


Truce

by orphan_account



Series: Smutty Adventures of Birb Mage and Nightlight [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Sweet and smutty just how I like it, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 12:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris discovers the abomination isn't quite so abominable. His sister's betrayal opens Anders eyes, and his own open Fenris'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a sweet fluffy idea in my head, then I saw a a gifset on Tumblr of Fenris, Danarius, and Varaina in the quest Alone. It gave me the intro point I was trying to figure out, so I jumped on it and conveniently avoided the angst because I really just wanted these two being cute and sinful dorks. Written in the span of... I forget how many hours it's been now, but please, enjoy my quickly-not-actually scrawl.

"You will not have hi **m, Fenris is no slave!** " Anders, swiftly becoming Justice, yelled in both voices blended seamlessly together just before chaos erupted.

The Hanged Man became a whirlwind of activity, Hawke and Isabela each dancing in and out of the shadows, shade's dissipating as quickly as they could raise themselves from the floor. Shouts from Danarius' men and the deep reverberating boom of Justice's voice mingled with the loud clashing of blades and sharp crackling of lightning, sickly wet squelching, and the tumbling of wooden furniture being shoved and tossed aside. The heady disorientating tang of blood and ozone sharpened the smell of rancid alcohol and piss.

A whooping cheer from Varric up the flight of stairs leading to the tavern's rooms each time a bolt from Bianca hit it's mark, a thrilled crow of laughter from Isabela as twin daggers sunk satisfyingly into demon flesh. Hawke joined in on the revelry with his own triumphant jeering, riling Danarius and his cronies. Fenris and Justice settled into a nonverbal routine of electricity and blades, the spirit lashing out furiously with arcs of lightning like whips on his foes; Fenris following up with a devastating swing of his massive blade.

It wasn't long till naught but the magister and Fenris' sister, Varania were left standing - Danarius only just with the use of his staff, his other arm broken and hanging uselessly in an unnatural twist at his side. As Fenris dealt with Danarius, Justice receded and Anders tended to Hawke and Isabela's wounds.

Justice roiled in Anders' mind, making it difficult to think. He hardly paid attention to the proceedings, only that Fenris was in argument with his sister whom Justice struggled to gather an opinion on, switching weighing her actions and intent on a proverbial scale to determine whether she had been in the right or wrong. It played like a broken record over and over to where Anders had to shove him down deep just for a moment's peace. Just in time to hear the elven woman - Varania - scamper half-way across the tavern before turning to explain mournful and bitter that Fenris had apparently competed for his markings in exchange for her and their mother's freedom.

"I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong. Magic has tainted that, too. There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone," Fenris sighed wearily, shoulders slumping beneath the weight of the revelation.

"You have us, that has to count for something, yes? Maybe? I mean I can't really speak for anyone else, but Varric, Aveline, n' I have taken a mop to a whole lot of messes around this shit hole city," Hawke joked with a bright laugh, an odd offset to the drying blood he was caked in.

"Oh hush now, I care plenty lot for all of you. Especially Kitten, but you too, Fenris. You're not alone, love," Isabela quipped, offering him a wide warm smile that made her eyes crinkle.

Fenris wrinkled his nose and shook his head at their humor, understanding it was simply who they were, but couldn't shake off the discomfort that came with the idea they were simply brushing this off as another ordinary day in Kirkwall. He pushed past the rogues, stealing a quick glance at Anders who remained silent. Their eyes met, and Fenris felt his breath catch in his throat to see sympathy rather than cold indifference. He quickly moved on, scowling with clenched fists. He didn't need sympathy, least of all from a mage. An _abomination of a mage_. The clench in his chest said otherwise.

.oOo.

A week passed, then another, and while his 'friends': Hawke, Varric, Aveline and all the others sans Anders came by to share their sympathies and instill new hope into him, he remained shut up in his dilapidated mansion meandering through rooms like a ghost as he drunk himself into a stupor. By the time he was forced to leave the confines of his home to seek food for his bare shelves, the items on his doorstep had been tampered with. There was a large handkerchief partially folded strewn over the step with a large hole gnawed into it, a lingering trail of crumbs leading away from it into the nearby bushes. Beside it was a tied bundle of small stalks, the soft slim heart-shaped leaves munched to nearly nothing, and what was left was withered and dead from the elements.

When he picked them up to smell them, the clean gentle scent of lemon met him. Lemon balm. He picked up the handkerchief and found a note folded into a small square amongst the crumbs of whatever was wrapped in it, picking up traces of warm spices and sugar.

> _Apple strudel, wine, and lemon balm. I was told you would understand the herb's meaning. I offer a truce, if you would have one._

Fenris chewed contemplatively on his cheek at the note's contents. Lemon balm. Sympathies. Anders' sympathies, and woefully without the gifts that went along with it, the herb bundle aside. Since when did the blighted mage know flower language? Since when did he know he would understand it? Hawke immediately came to mind. He tossed the ruined stems into the bushes and tucked both note and cloth into a pack before heading to the market at the prompting of a fierce growl from his stomach.

.oOo.

Anders worked tirelessly in his usual routine of healing the sick and wounded during the day, writing in his manifesto before bed, and all in-betweens a chance for him to catch a nap or fill his stomach. Hawke, the doting friend he was, appeared regularly with supplies for the clinic; Merrill fresh, hot cooked meals. Their generosity extended to a key to the underground passage leading to Hawke's estate, a guest bedroom, and free access to the kitchen. It was more than he felt he deserved, but he wasn't about to squander the offers, and took them almost as quickly as they were given to him.

It also allowed him quick and discreet access to Fenris' front door. Not that he would ever let himself be seen around the prickly elf's property without a death wish on his mind.

Fenris. Broody, prickly, mage-hating and vehemently, Anders-hating. Fenris. Intelligent beyond belief and a strategist that would put most commander's to shame, an incredible mediator when he wants to be, and passionately loyal. It was appearances first that caught Anders' attention, the lyrium burned to soft dusky skin in Justice's case. The near-violent rivalry was instantaneous, but over the many years it had simmered into unrequited love, to Anders' vexation. The more Fenris learned under everyone's tutelage; reading, writing, basic math to be able to buy his own things, the more his real personality began to show through. Well liked by everyone, but selective in who he liked back. Neither Anders or Merrill made that cut, but the bloody elf at least put on an indifferent smile towards Merrill for Hawke's sake once their relationship had turned serious.

His clinic door opening and shutting with its usual creak startled the blond mage from thoughts over Fenris, wondering if the warrior would ever warm up to him. If he would accept the offer for them to agree to disagree and move on. If the gifts at the very least, were accepted. He had little doubt Fenris would probably have his fill of what was presented and leave it at that.

"Got a couple things for you, Anders." It was Hawke, cheery as usual.

Anders stood up from his desk, a red print in the shape of the heel of his palm on his cheek, and stretched tall with a satisfying series of cracks as he got the kinks out of his back. "Is it lunch already?" he said, yawning. It was an impossibly slow day, and Justice was blessedly quiet, leaving him alone to his thoughts.

"Yes, actually. That's what this is," Hawke grinned, placing down a basket of food that smelled spicy. "Nevarran. Merrill's been looking at trying other cuisines. Careful with it, I can't promise there isn't enough chili powder in there to give you the power to breathe fire without the magic. All I remember hearing was an 'oops' and 'it's okay, it's alright, I have this, love'." He placed a large cloth-bound surprise that was in his other hand beside the basket. "And that, I don't know what that is. Bodahn gave it to me, but apparently he's not allowed to tell me who it's from, just that it's for you."

Curiously, Anders furrowed his brows and looked at the plain, clean cloth, the ends tied together into a big knot. A thick woody stem poked out from it, but beyond that it looked like a harmless lumpy bundle of Maker-knows-what. When he started to open it though, a sweet tooth-aching fruity smell greeted him, intermingling with the definitely-too-much-chili-powder chili. An olive branch, complete with leaves and actual unripened olives from someone's tree, and a wrapped dish that he discovered to be a peach cobbler was revealed. Beneath the dish was a note, one that Anders slipped into his coat, earning an inquisitive puppy look from Hawke.

"I'm guessing you have a secret admirer?" Hawke cocked an eyebrow at the mage, crossing his arms.

"No, actually. This isn't a romantic gesture. And no Hawke, I'm not going to tell you who it's from," Anders replied, holding up a silencing finger at the rogue as he stuck another one into the cobbler to taste it. "Oh Maker," he practically moaned at the sweet and warm spiced burst of flavor. "This is good stuff." This one had a unique addition of cinnamon and honey that he wasn't accustomed to; not that he was ever able to indulge like this very often to grow acquainted with the taste.

"Mind if I have a taste? It smells incredible." Hawke batted his lashes with a coy smile for added effect.

"Sorry, but I'm pretty sure the one who sent this to me meant it to be only for me." The coy look on Hawke's face turned into a sad pout, but the rogue relinquished after that too failed to budge the blond mage.

"Alright, alright, I'll just leave you to it then. Tell lover boy-- girl-- person next time buy one for the delivery boy too!" Hawke laughed, waving as he took his leave.

Anders rolled his eyes, and once alone, snuffed out his lantern and locked the door to eat in peace. First though...

> _Truce._

One word. One word on the scrap of paper, neatly written in Fenris' handwriting. Even if Anders hadn't been expecting anything else, he was at least expecting _more_ than one word. His shoulders slumped, but between Merrill's cooking and a fresh bottle of milk to accompany it, the cobbler for dessert, he was hardly complaining. The rest of the day continued in slow motion, and Anders took it as an opportunity to do a little inventory and fix up a few cots he had been putting off before returning to Hawke's for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Life seemed to return to normal, minus the frequent bickering between Anders and Fenris once the elf started leaving his house again. Keeping their opinions to themselves as promised, they began to discover how capable of a fighting team they could be when working cooperatively. Fenris by no length felt any better about fighting with a mage, and especially a possessed mage, but around Anders and even Justice, he was beginning to soften around the edges. Of everything that occurred that day in the Hanged Man, it was the two collectively proclaiming Fenris' freedom that stuck with him the most.

For all their squabbling and violent outbursts, not only did Anders stand up for him, but the demo-- spirit, too. In the few times Justice came to the surface on jobs Hawke would drag them through, the spirit spoke significantly calmer, and willingly came to or worked alongside Fenris. Not as someone who needed to be protected, but as an equal like he often would for any of the others. There were still spats, and many times Anders or Justice would suddenly crack at even the most miniscule mention of anything relating to the current situation with Meredith and the mages, but for the most part things were proving to be a stark, pleasant difference despite the crumbling hell around them.

Fenris took more notice of the mage plight now that Anders was no longer shouting it in his ears, and at his own pace he was quickly discovering the degree of oppression the mages in the south bore, and the corruption within the Chantry as he started to read between the lines and pick up the nuances the faithful were blissfully ignorant or unaware of. And above all, he began to realize he and Anders had suffered terribly in their own ways, that both were as similar as they were different. That unbeknownst to him for all these years, something he was too blinded by fear and pain to see had been growing within him, and only now was he beginning to understand what it was. Deciding one night in his now liquor-dry estate, having drunk the last of the wine in the cellar several nights ago, Fenris dressed and made his way down to Darktown.

.oOo.

A long slender, armored finger trailed down a crack in the wooden door to Anders' clinic, Fenris standing there silently in contemplation; a last chance to turn heel or go for it. In his other hand was a fistfull of grass and a single yellow tulip. Submission; love between two of the same gender, and hopeless love. It was all he could find on short notice that would get his point across where he knew words would fail him. It was twilight over Kirkwall judging by the vivid orange glow over the vast seaside horizon, and soon the less-insufferable of late mage would be leaving to take the tunnels to Hawke's. He sucked in a breath and snuffed out the lantern, slipping inside as quietly as he could.

On a stool in front of a wash basin, Anders was in a thin baggy shirt and breeches hunched over a washing board scrubbing out blood from some sheets, hair undone and mussed framing a tired, worn face. The mage didn't notice anyone was inside by the incredible stealth Fenris had until the elf softly cleared his throat, only feet away from the basin.

"O-Oh fucking Maker!" Anders swore, a flicker of blue crossing his face as he nearly fell off the stool in his jump of surprise. _Thanks for not telling me someone was here,_ he thought with a grumble at Justice. He looked up at said someone in question, and silently berated Justice again for ignoring _Fenris_ of all people. Dusting himself off, he combed his hands through his hair before giving up on the mess it was in. "Please don't do that again. A knock at the door, a hello, _something_ other than hovering silently like a ghost to see how long it would take for me to notice you would be grand," he huffed, gaze skimming over the elf, finding no signs of battle, let alone injuries to heal. He did silently note the bundle in the gauntleted hand, but chose not to comment on it as his heart began to race in question, suspense, and hopeful excitement.

"My apologies," Fenris deadpanned, inclining his head. After an awkward moment, he stepped closer, extending his confession to Anders, swallowing thickly. His eyes looked everywhere but on the mage's, flight instincts telling him to run, but he stayed put. It was time he did something for himself, to pursue that which he desired.

Accepting the tokens of... well, Anders wasn't ready to explicitly think these as tokens of affection or desire, but considering they toyed briefly with flower language some weeks ago, he couldn't think of any other reason why the warrior would give him a handful of grass that looked like it had been ripped out of the ground and a yellow tulip probably from some noble's garden.

"I... Care to explain? Please? I'm afraid I'm going to think the wrong thing and die in the dirt watching you loom over me with my heart in your hand," Anders admitted sheepishly.

Fenris gave Anders a flat look, huffing, and grabbed hold of the front of Anders' shirt to drag the taller man down into a fierce, passionate kiss. His other hand snaked through the long locks of strawberry-blond hair, firmly holding the mage's head in place by the back of the neck, slanting his lips sideways more against the other man's to deepen the kiss. The intensity of it was like a fire, scorching and demanding, hungry and lustful. Justice danced in Anders' mind, not at all put off by the proximity of the lyrium elf, but rather reveling in it as he guided his host's hands to trail his fingers over the exposed lyrium lines of Fenris' arms.

Anders groaned, knees beginning to buckle. Pleasure swept through him in powerful waves, arousal sending blood quickly south. He took control of his hands again, and wrapped them around the muscular elf, unstrapping the large sword and smiling satisfyingly at the clatter it made on the floor. Fenris rewarded him with a sharp bite to his bottom lip, then a sudden invasion of a hot seeking tongue in his mouth, a heavy sinfully low moan, drawing close enough to grind his already rigid erection restrained in tight black pants against Anders' thigh. He pushed the mage back, and further back yet, until they hit a wall, but their passionate kissing continued, breathing whenever they had the chance.

Fenris' armor soon met the ground off to the side, gauntlets first, then his chestpiece, and finally the leather adornments. Shirts were peeled off and tossed aside to meet the discarded plate, hands eagerly roving over planes of skin and muscle, exploring every dip, curve, and line of the other. Pale fingertips traced over lyrium, Anders' magic making the markings light softly blue from the magic coursing within him, causing Fenris to nearly purr at the pleasing sensation.

Dusky dark fingertips returned the gesture, following lightly over scars that marked Anders like a battlefield. He knew of them, had seen them before in more serious situations and a rare few times on days Hawke dragged everyone out to the Wounded Coast for a day out at the beach side. Fenris had ignored the stories they told back then, but he was listening and learning now.

"Fenris, fuck-- pants," Anders breathed hoarsely, thumbs hooked into the elf's waistline trying to shove them down to little avail.

"Belts, mage," he rumbled, amused. He pushed Anders against the wall with a flat hand plastered directly over the center of his chest, and groped the mage through his breeches, gripping and stroking the large hardened flesh tenting the fabric.

"A-Ah sweet Andraste, F-Fenris, fuck!" Anders choked out, head falling back to rest against the wall. His hips bucked against the hand, eagerly trying to fuck the partial fist. "Pants... please," he said again.

"Belts," Fenris answered bluntly, smirking wryly. It seemed this time Anders managed to realize what he was implying, and soon fumbling unsteady hands were unbuckling the belt around his waist and his pants slipped off with much more ease. The elf gave a final swipe of his thumb over the head of the mage's cock, large deep green eyes glimmering in satisfaction at the wet patch that had formed there.

He bent down onto a knee as he tugged the breeches down, and took Anders in his mouth without warning, sucking down the sensitive member as far as he could, hands holding the man's hips firmly against the wall to avoid being choked as Anders jerked and writhed in a hot mewling mess above him. Laving the mage's length with the flat of his tongue, he hollowed his cheeks each time he sucked down hard, twisting his head just so to pull a pleasured cry from the man. He worked his cock hard and fast, already aware from conversations ages ago of infamous 'Warden stamina'.

"Fe-Fen, I'm not going to last long like this," Anders warned, hand combing and tangling into shock-white hair. It was as silky and soft as he imagined it would be, but to actually feel it between his fingers was incredible. He could feel his release coiling in his gut, his balls tightening, and tried to tug Fenris off, but the elf only redoubled his efforts. In moments Anders had both hands tangled in the warrior's hair, shouting his name as his back arched off the wall and he came hard down his throat.

The warrior had felt the incoming release by how the length throbbed in his mouth, and pulled back a little in preparation, swallowing the mage's seed. As he suspected, Anders cock remained hard, a heavy but comfortable weight on his tongue. He withdrew and surged back up to meet _his_ mage's lips, hands tangling again in those glorious messy locks of hair as he pushed his tongue into the man's mouth, sharing the heady taste. Anders readily opened his mouth in reply, entwining his tongue with Fenris' and moaned into the elf's mouth as he held him close.

Twisting the warrior so he was against the wall now, Anders went down on him, Justice intermingling with his consciousness as he traced each swirl, curve, and dot of lyrium with his tongue. The spirit purred delightfully, as did Fenris, and Anders took to worshipping the lithe muscular body like he was defiling sanctified art; and truth be told, in his opinion that wasn't far from the truth.

"Cock, suck, now," Fenris growled, grabbing Anders by the hair again and pushing down. He was aching with need, precome leaking from the tip. He felt and heard the insufferable mage chuckle against his skin, breathing hot breath over a nipple that he playfully sucked and nibbled on. Just for good measure, he did the same for the other before complying and settling on his knees, laving his tongue over the thick erection hanging between the man's legs.

Unlike Fenris, he took his time, mouthing the hot flesh of his shaft with his lips and light fleeting scrapes of teeth. Anders worked unhurriedly on either side before stroking the shaft as he sucked and lapped at the tip and head, finally sinking inch by inch down onto the elf's cock till it was buried to the hilt in his mouth. Desperate and frustrated, Fenris made his own pace, holding Anders still while he fucked his mouth unrelenting, only stopped from going too far by a loose hold on his hips as the mage encouraged the hard pace with eager hums that reverberated through his cock and groin. It wasn't long from the slow torture that Fenris was swearing loudly with Anders' name on his lips as he too was swallowed down by the mage.

Fenris pulled Anders back up, kissing him soundly on the lips before pushing him forward against the wall and forcing his legs to part. His own were shaky from his orgasm, but he was far from sated, and far too impatient to wait or shamble to whatever Anders called a bed down here.

"Slick," Fenris commanded, holding out a hand in Anders' line of sight. "Isabela told me you had a spell for that," he added when he saw the look of surprise on the man's face.

"Of course she would," Anders rolled his eyes. Not bothering to question it or the use of magic when he was about to be finger fucked by the elf of his dreams, he touched Fenris' hand and cast the spell, a slick color and odourless substance pooling in his hand, lyrium flaring blue at the action.

Fenris wordlessly rubbed it between his hands, taking hold of Anders' cock with one hand to slowly stroke it, the other teasing along the cleft of his ass before slipping down to toy at his entrance. It was slow progress, the mage breathing shallow faint gasps and whispered encouragements, but eventually Fenris was working a full finger in and out of the tight passage, easing the way for a second at Anders' command. He scissored his fingers in between every few strokes, keeping a steady slow rhythm on the mage's erection.

"Hhh, h-AH! _Fenris!_ " Anders cried, throwing his head back and rocking his hips back onto the warrior's fingers, a jolt of pleasure arcing suddenly up his spine. "M-More, please, more!" he begged, pressing his head to the wall and willing himself from buckling to the floor.

Smirking to himself, Fenris bit an ass cheek, sucking a red welt into it as he indulged in Anders pleasure, rubbing over the bundle of nerves that had the mage squirming and shaking. "This what you wanted?" he asked, massaging the base of Anders' spine right above the cleft with his tongue.

"Maker, _yes, Fen_ ," he shuddered out, moaning wantonly as heat began to pool in his groin again, arousal coiling tighter. Anders was panting breathlessly by the third finger, and almost didn't hear Fenris demand more slick, and quickly complied. "Please fuck me already, Fenris. I'm so hard it hurts."

"I can't say I'd have the patience to prolong this any longer than it already has," Fenris quipped, slicking himself up. He spread Anders open, and pushed the head of his cock against his entrance, rocking against it without breaching for a few moments, and then - _ah_ \- he was sliding home little by little into that tight heat. Fenris pushed against the mage until he couldn't sink deeper, and held him until they weren't on the verge of ending this prematurely.

"By the Maker, you feel incredible," Anders breathed, starting a slow rhythm when he was ready. Fenris countered it, keeping the slow pace so they could enjoy each other as their pleasure built up once more.

Between a naturally quiet demeanor and deeply ingrained habit, Fenris was quiet as he thrust into his mage, one hand on pale hips less bony than he expected, the other fisted in blond hair. As it was, Anders was making enough noise in his low gasps and high mewls for the both of them down here where privacy was unheard of and the walls to the outside world were thin. The elf watched mesmerised as he sunk repetitively into Anders' ass, the way the muscles of his back and ass would tighten and relax, the internal muscles squeezing him each time he grazed over his prostrate. It was too much, the sight, the sound of skin against skin and the sharpening, shallowing breaths Anders was beginning to make; the heady scent of sex filling his nose.

Fenris gave no warning as he wrapped one arm diagonally over Anders' torso, grappling onto a shoulder in a tight grip, the other hand wrapping around his leaking erection to start pumping it fast and firm. The warrior forced Anders back against him so they were pressed together, and he began to snap his hips hard and quick in punishing long thrusts, angling himself to strike the mage just right and send him keening over the edge.

While not as tall as the man, Fenris was tall enough to fuck him into the wall and reach his neck, and he sunk his teeth into the crook of his mage's neck, growling a feral sound as he claimed the man, the long thrusts turning into quick shallow jerks. His orgasm was fast approaching, every muscle tightening as the heat and pressure became overwhelming. By the way Anders was crying his name like a mantra, his passage squeezing around him with greater consistent pressure, he knew he was close too.

Fenris released his jaw, pressing his lips to the back of Anders' neck, panting rough hot breath against it. "Come for me, Anders. I want to feel you come around me before I come inside you," he rumbled out, voice husky and deep. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the head of the mage's length, circling it on the upstrokes.

Anders' resolve gave way like a breached dam almost immediately, and he came hard, choked shout cutting off into a wordless rush of air as he spilled his seed against the wall and over Fenris' hand. He clenched hard around the elf, and a final single thrust deep inside was the last the elf needed before he came with a broken whine, holding on with an iron grip and filled Anders.

They slumped down to the floor, exhausted and boneless, and merely held each other for a long while after that. Night was upon them, and it was cold, prompting them to finally rise aching and still feeling like the equivalent of those fruity jiggling gelatin desserts sometimes seen at the market. Laundry abandoned, Anders donned his usual attire as Fenris dusted off and dressed back into his armor, a comfortable silence between them.

"If I may ask, what prompted this all of a sudden?" Anders queried, unable to stuff down his curiosity.

Fenris regarded him for a bit, and sighed, a slight lopsided smile curving a corner of his lips. "I was a fool then, not to see. It took a look in your eyes for my own to open. Unfortunately for you, it took a display, but that is the past and I am a free man now. A free man who can choose his own fate, and pursue his own desires," he said confidently, proudly; a touch of humor even, in there.

"Then... Back at the Hanged Man, after Danarius...? Well, that was unexpected. I guess I'll have to ask Hawke and Merrill for another bottle of wine and apple strudels to celebrate then," Anders beamed, chuckling.

"About that... I'm assuming a thief perusing Hightown stole whatever bottle you left at my doorstep, and rats got into the pastry and chewed all the leaves on the lemon balm up. What was left of it was withered to near nothing," Fenris admitted. "The sentiment however, was appreciated."

Anders stared blankly at the elf, and promptly rubbed a hand down his face. "Lovely. Well, if you would like to, I can see if Merrill could make more. It's also growing late and bandits and slavers will start prowling soon, so we should probably head back to Hightown. I don't think Hawke or Merrill would mind if you passed through their house, or if you'd take interest sharing the guest bedroom with me? Better than sleeping in all that mold."

Fenris huffed and strapped his sword onto his person, tugging Anders down by the chain of his coat. "Better than the smell of sewer," he countered, capturing his mage in another searing kiss. "If Hawke and the witch are amendable, I would enjoy sharing a bed with _my_ mage."  
  
"Your mage? Hmph. Well, if it means great sex and peach cobblers, I think I could handle being _your_ mage," Anders mused in return. He locked the clinic up behind Fenris, and made his way to the trap door, their fingers weaved loosely together in a tentative sign of hope for new beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank chu all for reading~
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, as I am new to writing n' publishing fanfic, and this is my first time writing smut for people to read :)


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